


Take a Moment to Think

by AppalachianApologies



Category: Daredevil (TV), The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: ALL THE ANGST, Also anger, Angry Matt, Angst, Frank's a good person, Kidnapping, a kitten with z e r o self esteem, he's like an angry kitten tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:21:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26194066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AppalachianApologies/pseuds/AppalachianApologies
Summary: Matt's fine. He's completely fine. Even though his only two friends have moved on, his firm went under, and now his ex best friend has been kidnapped.The last thing he needs is Frank Castle hanging around his city.Written for the Daredevil/Defenders 2020 Exchange!!
Comments: 14
Kudos: 46
Collections: Daredevil and Defenders Exchange 2020





	Take a Moment to Think

**Author's Note:**

  * For [feathers_and_cigarettes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/feathers_and_cigarettes/gifts).



> Written for feathers_and_cigarettes, I hope you enjoy!!
> 
> Hello! Hi! So! A few things: Set after season two, but Frank's still chilling in Hell's Kitchen, I dunno why, don't ask me xD
> 
> Also both characters are like low-key ooc, but, you know, angst...

He got the text during round six with the heavy weight. 

A text, not a call. He hasn’t gotten a call for weeks.

Foggy had cut off their friendship, and Matt knew that it was long overdue. Matt deserved this. He deserved everyone to leave him. 

He made his choice, and he chose Elektra.

She died. Matt’s fault.

Foggy left. Matt’s fault.

The firm went under. Matt’s fault.

Karen left. Matt’s fault.

Which is why Matt gets a friendly robot voice, “Text message from, Karen Page.” He hates that damned voice. It’s far too cheery, and it puts too much emphasis on the beginning of Karen’s name. 

Matt gives a few more punches, but curiosity wins over, and he wipes his brow with the back of his hand.

He instructs the phone to read out Karen’s text, and frowns when he hears it.

“Have you heard from Foggy?”

Matt’s heart doesn’t clench when there’s no friendly greeting, and it certainly doesn’t clench when it’s obvious she doesn’t care about his well being. Really, his heart’s fine.

“Text Karen Page, ‘No, comma, why, question mark.”

A few seconds later his phone rings the (used to be) familiar, “Karen, Karen, Karen…”

Matt gives himself a few seconds of luxury to calm his breathing, and then answers. “Karen?”

“Hey, Matt. You haven’t heard from Foggy lately, have you?”

Matt’s stomach turns itself into knots. Doesn’t she know that he and Foggy haven’t talked for weeks? Logically he knows she’s not rubbing it in, but...

But nothing. Stick was right. 

“No, why?”

He hears a soft sigh from the other end of the phone, “It’s nothing. We were just supposed to meet for lunch today,” That doesn’t hurt, “and it’s been an hour already, and he isn’t answering his phone, and, oh, I don’t know. I’m probably overreacting, right?”

The butterflies multiply in Matt’s stomach, but he keeps his voice steady, “I’m sure he’s okay.” He hears his own heartbeat skip. “I can check up on him?” Matt winces, “I mean, if you’d like me too.”

Karen gives another sigh and says, “I don’t know. Maybe? You haven’t heard anything, you know, with your night life, right?”

Matt doesn’t know how to tell Karen that he hasn’t ‘seen’ Foggy in the daylight or moonlight for weeks. One time they got close enough that Matt could hear his friend’s heartbeat, and he instantly did a 180. He suffices for, “No, I haven’t heard anything about him, or Hogarth.”

“Right.” Karen makes a frustrating noise, and a few awkward seconds of silence stretch on between them. “Okay, well,” She starts with a faux calm laced in her voice, “Thanks. I’m sure he’s just out with Marci or something. Bye, Matt.”

The dial tone greets Matt’s ears before he can reply himself. 

But like a love-sick teenager, Matt keeps the phone up to his ear, pretending that as long as he doesn’t put his phone down, he’s still conversing.

It had been a full week since Karen last talked with him, and Matt wishes he wasn’t counting days. It’s been weeks regarding Foggy. 

Anxiety bubbling up in his chest, Matt unceremoniously drops his phone on the ground and resumes his 1 v 1 with the bag. There’s still a few hours until sunset, and what else would he be doing right now?

Eating homemade empanadas with Foggy and Karen, laughing over a jab at Foggy’s Punjabi?

Matt hits the leather a little harder.

By the time the moon shines, Matt’s covered in sweat, dripping down his brows and sides. He exchanges the tape on his hands for gloves, the ratty gym clothes for his red suit, and covers his blind eyes with the cowl. 

Already perched on top of Fogwell’s gym, Matt is almost relieved that he has a specific mission to do tonight. He’d be happy if it wasn’t about Foggy. 

Matt stops a mugging on the way to Foggy’s apartment, and hopes that the victim doesn’t realize how out of it he is tonight. The second he hears the sirens he leaves the woman and her purse alone, and slinks off into the darkness once again. 

Less than a block away, Matt already knows that Foggy isn’t there. His sturdy heartbeat, the metronome that got Matt through all of Columbia, through Elektra’s horrid breakup, the heartbeat that has always,  _ always, _ been there, isn’t in the apartment.

Not that Matt’s thinking about any of that. 

He’s fine. 

Matt jumps to the next building, but stops instantly in his tracks, nearly stumbling over his feat. 

He heard the news a few days ago: Frank,  _ The Punisher, _ Castle escaped from prison. The article that he read spoke of dramatic tales of manipulating officers, killing guards, starting riots, it spoke of getting out, against all odds, but Matt didn’t buy it for a second. 

Matt knows that Frank did little more than simply walk out of the front door. Kevlar vest waiting for him in a gift basket, courtesy of Wilson Fisk.

The smell of gunpowder is pungent, especially coming off of waves from the one many army that is Frank Castle. Luckily the marine hasn’t noticed him yet.

Unluckily, he positioned himself and his sniper rifle on top of Foggy’s apartment building.

Luck’s never been much of Matt’s strong suit. 

Matt swallows his anger, and jumps onto the gravel roof alongside Frank.

Frank takes a glimpse away from his scope, and scoffs. “Howdy there, Red.”

“Frank.”

Matt listens to his breath catch a few times with satisfaction, until Frank finally speaks, “Just gonna stand there, pretty boy?”

It’s a good thing the opaque lenses hide eye rolls. “Just passing by,” Matt answers, and really, it’s not a lie. The noise Frank makes in response makes him believe otherwise.

Foggy’s apartment is two floors below the roof, but a few steps down the fire escape, and panic grips Matt’s chest twice as hard as anything before.

The sweet acidic taste and smell of chloroform motivates the Devil’s legs to move a bit faster. 

Matt kicks in the window, fully knowing that replacing the window is going to be the least of his worries.

The smell is nearly overwhelming, and Matt has to take a second to catch his breath so he doesn’t vomit over Foggy’s carpet. 

It only takes a second for Matt to figure out where the smell is the most prominent, and that makes him even more nauseous. Drugging and kidnapping someone is one thing, but drugging and kidnapping them in their own bedroom? That’s fucked.

Matt tries to pick up any other clues to where Foggy could be, but the chloroform masks most other things. He can taste salt in the air, and cologne that he doesn’t recognize. Way, way, too much cologne. If Matt didn’t know better, he’d think that the man bathed in it.

But other than the bitter taste, the Devil doesn’t have any clue to where his best, no, ex best friend could be.

Matt nearly storms out of the apartment back onto the roof, and he can tell Frank is looking right at him.

“Lookin’ a little green there, Red.” 

Ignoring the comment, Matt chokes out a, “I need your help, Frank,” before he can think better of it.

The marine’s heartbeat does a flop, and his breath catches on the way out. Matt’s just as surprised as he is. 

When Frank doesn’t answer, Matt continues, “There’s only a few places in Hell’s Kitchen that he could be, and I-”

“Who?” Frank interrupts, putting his scope down from the ledge.

Matt pauses for half a second, but it’s long enough for the other man to notice. “A lawyer. Nelson.”

A grin must’ve hopped onto Frank’s face, because the next words out of his mouth are, “You’re Murdock. I fuckin’ knew it. The second you stopped into the hospital.”

Matt cocks his head to the side, feigning ignorance. “The other lawyer?”

“Don’t play coy, Red. It doesn’t suit you well.”

“I don’t-”

Frank laughs. “You’re Nelson’s buddy, that’s why you gotta go after him right?” Matt opens his mouth to talk back, but Frank continues, “Besides, I’d recognize that ass anywhere,” He finishes with another grin.

Neither confirming nor denying Frank’s assumptions, Matt reiterates, “I need your help. I’ll make it worthwhile for you. Please.”

Matt wonders what God thinks of him right now- begging the Punisher, begging a mass murderer to help him. He can already hear Stick’s spat of “pathetic”, but he doesn’t dwell on it. He can fall back into self loathing after Foggy is safe.

Whether it was from the promise of something worthwhile, or the broken “please”, Frank gives a gruff nod and asks, “Where do we start, Red?”

Matt’s been following Jeri Hogarth cases, with only a few illegal methods, and he knows which cases Foggy’s been working on. Two rich companies, head to head on a patent that really, neither should have the rights to. 

He knows that if Nelson and Murdock still existed, they would be helping the engineer get the rights to her own device, instead of either of the companies.

Matt pushes the thought down.

Foggy’s helping Walton Industries, which means that Toller Inc. most likely went after Foggy. They have a few warehouses on the outskirts of Hell’s Kitchen, and there’s a good chance that Foggy’s in one of them.

So fine, maybe Matt got a little paranoid and looked all of this up weeks ago, but hey, rather be safe than sorry right?

Matt runs across rooftops, and Frank trails behind him, doing surprisingly well at keeping up with the Devil. Matt’s heartbeat stutters as he trips around an air conditioning unit that  _ he knew  _ was there. He’s been on this old apartment building before, and Matt knows exactly what the roof feels like.

The Stick in his head laughs, and Matt’s too tired to argue.

Frank then speaks up, effectively pulling the vigilante out of his thoughts. “I’ve gotta ask,” He huffs, breath heavy from running, “What’s with the blind fa ç ade?”

An angry laugh dies in Matt’s throat. “Who says it’s a fa ç ade?”

“You really want me to believe that a blind guy is jumpin’ off rooftops?”

Ordinarily, Matt would make a joke (probably self deprecating), or maybe a snarky comment, but this night isn’t ordinary. His best friend, no, ex-best friend is missing, and he can’t handle anymore comments from the peanut gallery.

So he stops on his heels, and turns to Frank.

Before either can say anything Matt rips off his cowl and tilts his head up to what he assumes Frank’s field of view is.

Sometimes Matt can point his eyes in a direction, he can still feel the damn things move, but right now, he lets his irises float in whatever direction they want to.

Matt waits until he hears Frank’s heart increase and breath catch before muttering, “This isn’t a fa ç ade.”

He feels a puff of Frank’s breath before the older man asks, “How?” so quietly that it’s mostly air.

In lieu of answering, Matt yanks his cowl back on, ignoring when it catches on his ear, and heads back to the direction of the Toller warehouses. Barely a second passes before he hears the pounding of feet behind him.

Three more buildings over, Matt pauses and holds his breath. A familiar lub-dub rhythm, albeit faster than usual, greets him.

Frank stops next to him, unsure of why. “Red?”

Pointing to forward and a bit to the left, Matt answers, “He’s in there.”

“How can you tell?” Frank presses, pure curiosity.

“‘Doesn’t matter.” Matt moves to scale down the roof, but stops at the edge. “Listen Frank, about your ‘style’ of handling-”

The other man’s scoff interrupts him. “Gonna keep tellin’ me that I can’t kill, huh?”

_ Forgive me father, for I have sinned,  _ “As long as Foggy gets out, I don’t care what you do.”

Frank’s heartbeat speeds in what could only be excitement, and it only makes Matt a bit sick.

Matt then half runs half jumps down the fire escape, and takes out his billy clubs. He doesn’t bother to hear where Frank is, just walks steadily toward the building, Foggy’s heartbeat growing louder and louder.

The goddamn steel door isn’t even locked. It’s like they wanted a fight with the Devil.

A man near the door notices him, but doesn’t bother to look up from his phone. “Tommy, I fuckin’ told you-”

A single hit from the billy club crashes the goon down to the ground, and a second later the room ignites.

Shouts of “Daredevil” and “It’s the Devil!” echo around Matt as he easily weaves through the hired guns, taking down each one with brutal efficiency. None of them seem to have enough brains to come at him at once, instead he’s able to take them out one by one. 

The steady flow of men finally come to a stop, and his path to Foggy is clear.

Matt skids to a stop in front of his (ex) best friend, and falls to his knees.

He smells like coppery blood, salty tears and sweat, but mostly he smells like  _ Foggy. _

“Foggy,” Matt starts, patting him down for injuries. “Foggy!” 

The lawyer lets out a low moan of pain, and Matt’s heart breaks just a bit.

“Hey, hey, Foggy,” Matt soothes, oblivious of the Punisher coming up behind him. “C’mon, talk to me. Tell me how I’m a dick, just say anything.”

He only gets silence in response. 

Frank startles him with an uncharastically soft, “Red?”

With a shaky breath Matt stammers out an, “Am-Ambulance. Call one. Call an ambulance.” He then goes back in his attempts to coax Foggy out of what must be a concussion, “Foggy, please.  _ Please. _ You’re safe. You’re safe now.”

Terrifying image be damned, Matt continues whispering nothings into Foggy’s ear, his shallow breath and warm heartbeat the only thing keeping him sane.

Matt doesn’t know how long he stays like that, on his knees, head bowed like Foggy is a deity, but at some point the sweet sound of sirens finally reach his ears. Any other time sirens would mean bad news, but right now, he could cry at the relief.

Once the sounds get close enough to pierce through his ear drums, he forces himself to move from Foggy’s side.

...And nearly trips on the body of a goon, who’s muttering weakly.

Matt sees red.

Well.  _ Hears  _ red.

Fists fly, and legs shoot out, more to just incapacitate. 

He hears ribs  _ crunch, _ arms  _ crack, _ and joints  _ pop _ . The stench of blood overpowers every other one of Matt’s senses.

Which is why he doesn’t hear Frank until the larger man is literally pulling him away from the henchman. 

“Let me- Frank!” Matt yells, heart beating in his ears, “Let me go!”

Instead of complying, Frank just answers, “Shit Red, you’re gonna kill that fucker, you know that?” 

Matt squirms out of the other man’s grip, although he’s partially convinced that he wouldn’t have been able to do so unless Frank was actually letting him. “I wasn’t gonna, I wasn’t.” Matt mutters, still breathing hard.

One of the lethargic heartbeats begin to stutter and slow, and it takes Matt a second before he realizes it’s the man on the ground. “No, no no, no no no!” 

“Red?” Frank asks, before fully taking in the man underneath him. Frank’s seen enough war to know that he’s dying. Minutes, maybe seconds away from being dead.

Matt’s still muttering fearful curses when Frank takes out his M9, and delivers a single shot to the man’s forehead.

“F-Frank?”

With a gruff nod, Frank answers, “You didn’t kill that man, you hear me?”

“I-”

“ _ I  _ killed him. Shot ‘em right between the brow.”

Before Matt can respond, a crash is accompanied by the shout, “NYPD, nobody move!” Echos around the metal warehouse.

“Shit,” Frank hisses, and Matt drags him to the shadows before any of the officers can see them.

He can hear the officers’ fear when he hears, “Jesus Christ, call a bus! Fuck, how many bodies are here?”

“Are they dead?”

“Some. A few got shots right in the head.”

“And the others?”

“Unconsci- Fuck! Simons, get over here now! We got a vic,”

“The one in the call?”

“Seems like it. Shit, he’s in bad condition. Are we clear for the paramedics?”

Frank snaps Matt out of his eavesdropping. “We gotta go Red, before they get closer.”

Matt silently nods, and swings himself up a support beam, not bothering to wait for his partner in crime. 

Once they’re a few buildings over, Frank stops Matt mid pace with, “What the fuck was that, Red?”

In lieu of a response, Matt rips off his cowl and uses his other hand to pull on the fragile strands of hair.

“Well? Want to fucking explain-”

“Stop.” Matt gets out, locking his knees so he doesn’t fall over. “Stop. They’re, they’re reading Foggy’s vitals, I need to hear this.”

He hears a huff from Frank, but the marine stops talking. 

Finally, Matt gives a soft sigh and leans against the air conditioning unit on the roof.

“Well?” Frank prompts, something in his voice that Matt doesn’t want to decipher at the moment. Or at any time, really.

With a shake of his head, Matt answers, “They’re taking him to Metro General. He should be fine. I’ll text Claire,” He waves a hand in front of his face, “She can tell me what happens.”

“Right.” There’s a pregnant pause before Frank continues, “So we gonna discuss the elephant in the room?”

“What do you want me to say, Frank? Huh?”

“You were gonna kill a man, Red!”

Matt suddenly stands up and puts his face inches from Frank’s. “I did. I  _ did  _ kill a man.”

Frank just rolls his eyes and argues, “Nah, Red. I killed him. I put a bullet in his head, for fuck’s sake! You didn’t kill anyone, you hear me?”

The grainy roof makes a wispy noise as Matt stumbles back to the air conditioning, where he leans back against it. “You were right,” He eventually starts with a quiet voice. “You were right.”

“What’re you on about, Red?”

With a choked out sound Matt finishes his broken sentence, “I was just one bad day away from becoming you.”

This time, Frank is the one to march over to him. “Red, you don’t got it in you.”

“What?”

“You can’t kill a man. You don’t got it in you,” He reiterates.

Matt scoffs, “Then what the fuck was I doing before, huh?”

“Red,”

“Fuck.”

“Red,”

“Fuck!”

“Murdock!” Frank shouts, hoping to God that no one’s in the vicinity to hear him.

Matt cradles his head in his palms, the rest of the night finally catching up with him. “I thought I lost him, Frank. Fuck.” Matt doesn’t know where his life went wrong enough that he’s freely expressing emotions, least of all to Frank Castle, but he can’t find himself to care right now.

“He’s gonna be fine, Red, you said it yourself. Go home, change, go see ‘em in the hospital, yeah?”

With a shaky laugh Matt answers, “No, no, can’t do that. Foggy doesn’t want to see me.”

“He was just kidnapped, Red, I think he’d be fine with seeing you,”

The counter argument does nothing to assuage Matt’s fears. “He doesn’t want anything to do with me, Frank! Can’t you tell?”

Frank shakes his head, even though he’s unsure if Matt can even tell. “Red, he’s like your family, right?”

“Frank-”

“Right?”

Matt nods slowly, “Yeah.”

“And he’s still alive,” Frank starts, “Which means you can see him, don’t you get that? You get another chance at family, don’t throw that shit away.”

Matt nods again, and rubs a hand over his face. 

Surprising both of them, Frank leans against the bulky air conditioner next to Matt. they stand together in silence for a minute before Frank reiterates, “You haven’t lost your family yet, Red. Don’t let ‘em slip away from you.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah?”

They stand in silence for another moment, before Matt wraps a quick arm around Frank’s shoulders. “Thanks, Frank.”

Taken aback, Frank awkwardly pats Matt’s back until the vigilante pulls back.

“Thanks, Frank. Now, I’ve uh, I’ve got a brother to visit.” Matt muses, a small smile coming across his face.

“‘S no problem, Red.”

Matt’s already halfway across the roof when he adds, “Hey, Frank?”

“Yeah?”

With a grin The Devil answers, “Get the fuck outta my city. The NYPD knows you’re still here,”

“You carin’ ‘bout me, Red?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Frank.” He slides down the fire escape, and quietly adds to himself, “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

**Author's Note:**

> Again, I hope you enjoyed, feathers_and_cigarettes, I had a lot of fun writing this!


End file.
